


The Everthere

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Renewing wedding vows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:52:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not the going down, Jack, it’s the getting back up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Everthere

_“If I lose a sequin here and there,_

_More salt than pepper in my hair,_

_Can I rely on you,_

_When all the songs are through,_

_To be for me the everthere” – The Everthere by Elbow_

 

_  
_

“You gonna be in there much longer?”Daniel shouts outside the bathroom door. He transfers the mug of breakfast tea from his right hand to his left. Damned arthritis. A legacy of pens held too tightly – computers for logging, ink only for everything else– and leafblades wielded.

 “Why? Are we being raided by the shower police or something?” Jack’s muffled voice comes back through the wood. Someone has got out of the bed on the wrong side this morning and Daniel knows it’s not him.

“The car will be here in less than an hour. I don’t want you greeting the driver wearing nothing but a towel and a smile.”

An elbow bangs the shower screen and a muffled “Ow, fuck”follows. Daniel smiles. Jack still prefers to take a bath but that depends entirely on weather contingent knees and back.

“I have your tea here. Want me to leave it in the bedroom or in there?”

“In here. You know I can’t drink it when it’s cold. I miss coffee. What does that doctor know anyway?”

“More than you. And if you don’t quit whining I’ll substitute cranberry juice.” Daniel threatens, then sighs. An early-morning cranky Jack usually leads to a cranky Jack for the rest of the day. God job he adores the old bastard. He opens the door to be met by a billow of steam and puts the mug down on top of the stand that holds the folded towels.

“Wanna make an old man happy?” Jack’s face appears from round the shower screen. He jiggles his eyebrows and grins, water pouring down his face. Not so cranky, then. Sex has a tendency to cheer him up, or just the thought of sex, apparently.

Daniel wanders over to him. “It’s not the going down, Jack, it’s the getting back up.”

Jack sighs and purses his lips. Daniel finds himself distracted by the way Jack’s pouting mouth still has an unsettling effect on his loins. He loves that mouth. It has kissed him, licked him, whispered to him, yelled at him, argued with him and generally loved him for 30 years. They’ve been married for 20 of them; 20 years to the day, actually. Fuck. Where does the time go?

“Besides, you have to get dressed and you haven’t even decided what to wear. There’s no time.” Daniel holds out a large white bath towel.

Jack snatches it from him in faux irritation.

“Spoilsport.” Jack’s voice fades into the spray as he leans back and around to turn off the shower. Daniel catches a glimpse of the knee surgery scar. Three months on and it’s looking good, fast becoming just another fading pink memento of a life lived.

“Gee. I’m hurt. Now get a move on. Sam’s arranged for the car to be here at 10 o’clock. _You_ can be the one to explain why we’re late.” Daniel turns to leave, bending slowly to pick up Jack’s discarded pyjamas from the floor. He does it without thinking, acting before Jack has to ask for help.

“Damn car won’t be late, you can bet on that. Carter’s still way too military.”

“Says the man who still gets up at fuck o’clock every morning and does a perimeter check of the house first and last thing. And can you _not_ call her Carter?” Daniel throws over his shoulder.

“Old habits. She’ll always be Carter to me.” Jack answers, voice rising, making sure, as always, that he has the last word.

Daniel is laying out his gray wool suit on the bed when Jack wanders in, towel around his waist.

It’s Daniel’s best, custom-made by the tailor who also made his wedding suit. Daniel runs his fingers over the quality cloth, admiring the texture, thinking of the skill that went into making it. Daniel is tactile, when he allows himself to be. He knows Jack loves his hands, and he smiles when he realizes he is being watched from across the room.

“Blue shirt, or white?” He asks, turning to the closet and pulling out both.

Jack considers. “White.”

“Plain necktie or striped?”

“Striped.”

Daniel concurs and pulls off his sweatshirt, aware of Jack dropping the towel and searching drawers for underwear.

Just a brief glimpse of Jack’s bare ass is enough to make Daniel’s throat dry and his groin tighten. Even now, when he’s shared in the joy of this man’s body for so many years. Carlyle is right. The Age of Miracles is not past; it’s here forever.

Screw the schedule.

He walks up behind and moulds his body to Jack’s, wraps arms around him, nestles his head with his chin resting on Jack’s shoulder. His fingers begin a restless, tender sweep of chest and slightly rounded stomach, grazing nipples and moving on in search of other familiar, known delights.

“You still got it … old man,” Daniel whispers, nuzzling Jack’s right earlobe. He presses his erection in a subtle push against Jack’s ass.

Jack sighs. “Yeah, and _you’ll_ get it. From Carter. Guess you’ll have to save that for later.” Jack reaches back and between them to rub his hand over the jeans-covered outline of Daniel’s cock.

“Can’t guarantee it’ll be around later,” Daniel says, kissing his way down Jack’s throat.

“Well, then, I’ll take my chances. I can always trade you in for some hunky young stud if you don’t come up with the goods later.” Jack arches his neck to the left, allowing Daniel better access. A happy “Hmmmm” escapes him and Daniel smiles into warm skin. Then sighs.

“You’re right. What was I thinking. Sam’s gone to a lot of trouble. Can’t keep her and 30 others waiting.”

They pull apart reluctantly and dress, Jack settling on his favorite charcoal gray suit, white shirt and pale gray 50-ounce silk twill tie. The English one Daniel bought him when they toured Europe for their tenth anniversary.

Daniel struggles with the half Windsor tie knot, his fingers stiff and aching. Must be a cold front moving in. So Jack finishes for him, smoothing down the lapels of Daniel’s jacket and fixing the yellow rose buttonhole. Yellow for faithfulness. He caresses the petals. Daniel lets him, thinking how he’s never wanted anyone else and never will.

They stand together, assessing. Smiling, then.

“Got your vows?” Daniel asks.

“Had them in my head the last 20 years.”

Daniel leans in and kisses Jack, a soft expression of thankfulness and playfulness and quiet joy.

“Ten bucks says the car’s ten minutes early,” Jack says, creating a verbal distraction from his suddenly misty eyes.He walks off to wait in the living room.

Daniel watches, admiring the still straight back and strong shoulders. He smiles again, and follows.

 

The end


End file.
